Four Ways Claire Became a Petrelli
by boombangbing
Summary: ...And One Way She Didn't. Four ways that Claire became one of the family. Things that stay secret, and things that don't. Her daddy issues, and how things always seem to come back to Peter. Warnings: AU & incest, Paire. One Shot.


**Dis****claimer:** I do not own, nor pretend to have any claim over the characters I'm writing about, and by writing this, I am not endorsing any legal or moral wrongdoing. It's fiction, guys.

** 1.**

**Claire Petrelli**

_2000._

He does not have any culinary talent. Really, none at all, but for some reason he'd kidded himself into believing that he could certainly cook pancakes from scratch rather than just buy them pre-packaged.

It could not be credited as one of his better ideas.

He tries to flip them in the pan, the fancy way television chefs do it, and half of it lands on the floor.

"Shit," he groans, checking the clock and seeing that she'll be up any minute now. All he has to show for his early morning exploits is a spilt bag of sugar, a freshly squeezed cup of orange juice and half a pancake stuck to the pan.

"Dad?"

He grimaces, then turns, plastering on the biggest smile that he can. "Happy birthday, sweetheart!"

She surveys the disaster area of a kitchen, and smiles. "At least you didn't set the stove alight this year."

"Haha." He hands her the glass, and kisses the top of her head. "How's it feel to be ten?"

"Old," she says, pushing a lock of blonde hair out of her face.

Chuckling, he messes her hair up, causing her to sigh dramatically and smooth it back down, "Put your shoes and coat on, and we'll go out for breakfast."

The café is just a block away from their apartment, and they often go there when Nathan's screws breakfast up, which is... well, let's just say that a lot Petrelli money is invested in the place.

Claire's still got her pink pyjamas with teddy bears on under an oversized duffel coat and wellies. Nathan's good at a great many things, but girls fashion is not one of them, and he really doesn't see a problem with her wearing what she wants when she's not at school.

"So," he says, swirling the straw around in his milkshake (milkshakes, ice cream and bagels for breakfast – his Ma would be appalled). "What to you want to do today? Anything at all, the day is yours."

"Can we see Peter?"

Nathan rolls his eyes. "You see him practically every day! I meant something out of the ordinary."

"But," she says, working up into a full-blown 'I'm-a-poor-little-girl' pout. "I _haven't_ seen him in over a week, he's always at college and I miss him."

"Okay, okay, cut the manipulation act, we'll stop by the dorms after lunch. If we go before then he'll probably still be in bed."

And he is. Nathan sighs, putting an arm around Claire's shoulders, and tells Peter off for the state of his room.

"We're not much better, Dad," Claire says traitorously.

"Shush, darling."

Peter bounces out of his room – unconscious to up and alert in less than five minutes. Nathan suddenly feels very old. They decide to go to the Children's Museum of Manhattan, Peter's seen that they have a teddy bear exhibition on, and Claire's eyes light up comically. It's packed and noisy, and yes he loves his kid, but children en masse? It's not his idea of a good time.

Peter's great though, he's always been great with Claire. Sometimes, Nathan wonders if he would have kept her if his head-in-the-clouds, dreamer kid brother hadn't set him straight. Twenty years old and he was suddenly a single father. He and Meredith had broken up eighteen months prior to her call telling him she'd had a baby, and he honestly hadn't wanted to know. He'd told his mother, and she said the girl was probably lying – '_don't you think it's possible she slept around?_', and he agreed because you always agree with Angela Petrelli, that's how things are done. Then there was the fire, and the baby was suddenly in the house, and his mother was on the phone, arranging her adoption and his ten year old brother was telling him that he couldn't possibly give her away, and he was trying to explain how important it was for him to focus on his law degree, and everything he knew and understood was up in the air.

The adoption was decidedly dodgy. One of Ma's friends came over, a Japanese man with a boy about Peter's age engrossed in a video game, and with them he brought a serious looking guy with short, light brown hair.

"Nathan, this is Mr Bennet, he's going to adopt the girl." They nodded to each other, and Nathan felt out of his depth. Bennet was older than him by a good couple of years, and looked like he was far readier for a child than Nathan was.

"Are you married?" he asked Bennet.

"Yes, for five years now."

"That's good." Nathan looked down at his hands, uncharacteristically nervous. He was ballsy, that was his thing, didn't take any shit and never let anything rest, but he was prepared for all of that, the law, the debates, the university politics. This was something else entirely.

Next to him on the sofa, Peter was holding Claire, and she was smiling and giggling at him.

"It's time for Claire to go now, Peter."

He frowned at his mother, and turned to Nathan, ignoring her. "At least hold her once."

Nathan took the baby awkwardly, belatedly remembering to support her head. His mother clucked her tongue, and glanced pointedly at her watch. The baby smiled and waved her hand at him, and he could feel everyone's eyes on him.

"Okay, that's enough now." His mother advanced on him, and he looked up at her, feeling his eyes getting warm.

"I... Ma..."

And then there'd been a huge family argument, ending in Mr Bennet leaving with the same amount of children he'd arrived with and Nathan being informed he wouldn't last a week alone with a baby. Well, it had been a bit longer than that, but the rift with his mother was never quite properly healed.

It's glorious to leave the museum at four o'clock. Claire's admiring the bear that Peter bought her, another for her collection. He indulges her too much, Nathan thinks, buying her things, taking her out shopping or to the movies when ever she wants, but he's glad for it too. His boss rides him so hard sometimes that he's the last one left in the office late into the night and it's huge relief to come home and find Peter asleep on the couch, two empty take-out cartons on the table and Claire happily watching one of her videos (even if it's way past her bedtime). And if he's being honest, he spoils her far more than anyone else does.

They go to get ice cream, and he starts to regret telling her she could do_anything_ she likes as she immediately eyes a triple chocolate sundae. At least tomorrow isn't a school day. His cellphone rings, and he begrudgingly takes it, telling them to pick something for him. His daughter and brother look mischievous.

It's work, some typical disaster that turns out to be nothing of the sort when you stop for five seconds and think it through. Which he wishes people could do before they pick up a phone.

"Mr Petrelli? Nathan?"

He glances around when he hears his name. He can't place the woman straight away, then remembers; she's the daughter of one of his boss's clients. Heidi. They shake hands, and exchange pleasantries.

"Funny running into you here," she says, smiling almost coyly, and he recalls her being rather flirtatious with him when he sat in on one of the meetings. It's been a while since he's had a relationship, let alone dated someone. At first he'd tried, but it became apparent that he couldn't juggle his work life, home life and love life very well, so the latter had been the one to face the cut – and that was okay with him.

"Dad!" Claire jogs up to him, holding two ice creams, one impossible large. All he can think is 'sugar rush'. "I got you Rocky Road, your favourite!"

"Ah, bless you child." He takes cone, licking away some of the ice cream before it drips on to his hand.

"And look at what Peter gave me!" She hands him a pendant on a length of string. It's in sort of an 'S' shape with three lines crossing through it horizontally.

"I saw it in the market last week," Peter says, approaching at a more leisurely pace.

"It's nice."

Claire takes it back from him. "I'm going to wear it everyday," she proclaims proudly, slipping it over her head, and Nathan thinks that she wouldn't be half as enthusiastic about it if anyone except Peter had bought it.

Heidi clears her throat politely.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Heidi, this is my daughter Claire and my brother Peter."

She says hello to them, then to him says, "I didn't know you were married."

"I'm not," he answers.

"My mom died," Claire adds helpfully.

"So, you look after her all on your own then?" He could almost see her weighing it up in her mind. If he had simply been divorced then Claire wouldn't be around full-time, but he and Claire were a package deal, and really, what young woman would choose to take on a ten year old child that wasn't theirs?

"With some help from my family, yeah."

She makes her excuses and leaves pretty quickly.

"She's pretty," Claire says, not even a quarter of the way through her ice cream.

He shrugs. "Yeah, she's okay."

Later that afternoon, they drop by the mansion. His mother has promised to cook (or have someone else cook, to be more exact) a birthday meal for Claire. He's dreading it. Even when they don't say anything, which they don't any more, he still feels his parents disappointment. He hasn't fulfilled his potential, he should have been partner in the firm with a nice fancy house and a wife by now instead of living in a small two bed apartment in a less desirable neighbourhood, raising a child alone and leaving work as soon as he can to get home and see his daughter.

He comes to the mansion as little as possible, hasn't lived there since he was banished with nine month old Claire. His dad greets them at the door and wishes Claire a happy birthday, but it's all very tense and fake, and Peter tries (and fails) to break the ice.

There are balloons and a large banner decorating the dining room, and Ma comes through carrying a huge birthday cake. Ten candles flicker madly, and Claire grins up at him. He tries not to feel bitter about them acting the loving grandparents. Claire's happy, and that's all that matters.

She's less happy when she's throwing up later that night.

_2005._

Claire hums along to her iPod, crossing the road to her building. School's been good today, she got a B in the maths pop quiz, and cheer leading practice was going well. She can't wait to tell her dad, she knows he's been nervous about her joining the squad, it is a blonde eat blonde world after all, but things couldn't be going better. Most things, anyway.

She takes the stairs up to the apartment, the work out's good for her, and unlocks the front door.

"Dad! Are you home?" she yells.

His briefcase is by the door, so he must be there.

"Claire?" his voice has a strangled quality to it. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah, where are you?"

"In the lounge." She goes into the room, and glances around. He's not in there.

"Don't freak out."

She starts, looks up, stops and says nothing.

"Can you please call your uncle?" he says, as calm as you like, while floating five feet off the ground.

She's calls Peter, doesn't tell him why he needs to come over, because it sounds _insane_, just that he should. She sits on the arm of the couch, and looks at her father curiously.

"So, you can't come down from there?"

"Do you think I'd choose to be up here?"

She purses her lips. "I was only asking." She taps her fingers on her leg. "Well, while you're up there, there's something I need to show you."

"Can't it wait?" he calls as she leaves for the kitchen.

"No," she shouts back, reappearing a minute late with a knife.

"Look, I wasn't going to tell you this, because it's seriously freaky but... I think maybe you'll understand."

She touches the blade to her forearm and pulls it down her skin before he can say anything. His heart skips a beat, and then something unexpected happens. She wipes the blood away, and her skin's smooth and unblemished beneath.

"What? Is that some kind of trick?"

"Not the kind you think, Dad."

Peter arrives ten minutes later, and she shows him Nathan. He stands and stares up at his brother, head cocked to the side, arms crossed.

"Excuse me, I'm not a sideshow!" Nathan complains.

"You can fly?" Peter asks.

"It's more like floating, really."

"'Cause I've been dreaming that I could fly."

"Well, that's nice, but I didn't call you over to chat. Could you help me down?"

Claire's in the kitchen getting a drink when she hears a bump. Maybe Dad's off the ceiling, she thinks, putting the glass down and going to investigate.

Peter's rubbing his head. "Ow," he says.

"That happened to me too," Nathan says unhelpfully.

Now they're both floating.

"This is a very weird family," she mutters as she goes to fetch a broom.

_2008._

He gives the pan a shake, the yoke runs sideways. It smells slightly funny, and he checks the box of eggs. A week out of date. He sighs, switches the stove off and dumps the contents of the pan into the trash.

"At least you're keeping up the tradition," she tells him from the doorway.

"I really think I'll manage it one year." He kisses her on the cheek. "How's it feel to be all grown-up?"

"Old," she says, smiling. She's already dressed for school, and he wishes her birthday fell on the weekend this year. He wants to suggest she bunk off, but parental responsibility gets the better of him. There's a ornately wrapped box on the counter, and he hands it to her.

"I know most of you friends at school have their own car by now, but I hope you like it."

She undoes the ribbon, biting her tongue in concentration, and lifts the lid off.

"Oh,_Dad_." She laughs and picks up the metal bear keyring. "It's lovely, thank you."

He walks her out of the building, and once in the street she checks her watch. "Damn, I'm going to be late."

He takes her hand and leads her around the side of the building. "Hop on kid."

She wraps her arms around his neck, and he shoots up into the sky. He knows he shouldn't do it, (what would the neighbours say?) but he hears the exhilarated note to her laugh and once won't hurt.

Her mouth very close to his ear, she asks, "Can we go see Peter after I get out of school?"

**2.**

**Claire Petrelli**

Peter's ten when his parents bring Claire home. They've been at the hospital for the last couple of days, and his nanny's been telling him all week how excited he should be at having a baby sister. He is, kind of, but he's also a little confused. No one had said Ma was pregnant until two months ago. He's a kid though, so he accepts what they tell him and doesn't ask Nathan why he looks so miserable.

They make a fuss of her, but she's not anything really special, as far as he's concerned. She's kind of squashed looking and all she does is cry and poop and he gets less attention from everyone. It's Claire this, and Claire that and for the first six months he pretty much ignores her completely.

He's not the only one. His parents both work all the time, and Nathan's at college. The nanny feeds and washes and plays with Claire, and sometimes it like she's not even really part of the family.

He's walking past her room one day, and he hears her crying. No one else is around, so he begrudgingly goes in.

"Hey, don't cry," he says, reaching his hand in and pulling her blankets up. She touches his hand and giggles.

Sisters aren't that bad, he guesses.

She's loves it when Nathan comes to visit. Peter carries her out to the car as Nathan takes his bags out of the trunk.

"Nay-fen," she lisps, and smiles vaguely at her and continues into the house. Peter's never understood why his brother's so cold towards her.

Nathan argues a lot with his parents, and after he marries Heidi, Peter hears him yelling at Ma. He's fifteen now, and Claire's wants to go to the park, so he's helping her button up her coat.

"I'm married now, Ma, I think she should be with me!"

Peter leaves Claire to put her shoes on, and edges to the slightly open study door.

"-irresponsible," his mother is saying. "Everything's settled now, and all you'll do is mess everyone's life up."

"But she's my-" He stops mid-sentence, and Peter listens more closely.

"Ahem." His mother clears her throat loudly, and he glances up at her face in the doorway. "What are you doing, Peter?"

"Uh. Just passing by."

She nods, and firmly closes the door on him. He never hears that particular argument again.

Claire's seven when some snotty kid at school starts bullying her. Peter's picking her up, and they're going to go see Beauty and the Beast – which is not somewhere a seventeen should be caught dead in, but Christmas is coming up and she's been going on and on about seeing the film. He waits by the school gates, wearing his grungy jeans and leather jacket, generally feeling very cool when he sees some little prick poking Claire in the chest.

"Hey!" He runs into the playground. "What the hell do you think you're doing, kid?"

The boy's got a nasty, pinched little face, and he squints up at Peter. "Who are you?"

"I'm Claire's brother. And you are?"

"Randy."

"Well,_Randy_, I suggest you scram before I make life very painful for you."

The kid moves faster than he probably ever has, and Peter snickers.

"Peter!" Claire slaps him on the arm. "Why did you have to do that? He already thinks we're part of the Mafia!"

He shrugs. "Well, then he won't bother you again, will he?"

He stares up at the ceiling, looking at the patterns the stucco makes and thinks this must be what it's like for his patients. Only for them this is all they'll ever have and he'll be out of there in a couple of days. That is, of course, if Nathan doesn't have him locked up first.

Nathan did fly, Peter knows he did, but now his brother's trying to make out that he's losing the plot. Which he _isn't_. At least, he hopes he isn't.

There's a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Claire steps in nervously, still dressed in her private school uniform. It looks like she's been crying.

"Hey, hey," he says, sitting up. "Don't cry. Come on, I'm okay."

She sniffs. "Ma says you tried to kill yourself, is that true?"

"No, of course it isn't. Sit down." He pats the edge of the his bed, and she comes and sits by him.

"I'm not suicidal, okay?" He takes her chin in his hand, and wipes away a tear. "I... Thought I could fly. Turns out that Nathan can."

She frowns at him. They've never kept stuff from each other, not the important things, not for long and he isn't worried that she'll freak out, but he doesn't think she'll believe him. She roots around in her bag, and brings out a protractor.

"There's something I need to show you," she says.

Mohinder lowers his book as he hears the knock at the door. Who could it be? He only knows Eden and he saw her leave early that morning. Slowly, he gets up and looks through the peep-hole. It's the man from the cab and he's with a girl. Mohinder remembers that he was a bit odd, but harmless enough. He opens the door to them.

"We're looking for Chandra Suresh. I'm Peter Petrelli, this is my sister Claire."

"He was my father, I'm afraid he passed away. Uh, what can I do for you?"

"He wrote a book, about people with abilities. We think we might be one of them."

Mohinder shakes his head. "That was a father's research, and frankly I don't believe any of it. I'm sorry, I can't help you." He goes to close the door, but Peter stops him.

"Please, just watch." Claire holds her arm out straight, and Peter holds her wrist. A look passes between them, and she nods once. Peter holds her arm tight, and sharply wrenches it back. There's an audible snap and pop as her bones dislocate and break. Mohinder watches open-mouthed, fervently wishing he'd pretended he was out.

Claire grimaces, and takes her now limp right arm in her left hand, and pulls it back into place. Her shoulder pops back in and she gently twists her forearm back round the right way. The huge bruise that had been forming fades, and she wiggles her fingers.

"Perhaps you should come in," Mohinder manages to stammer.

**3.**

**Claire Gordon-Petrelli**

She stomps into the trailer, muttering angrily under breath. There's blood staining her jeans and damn it if they hadn't cost her fifty dollars.

"Claire? You home?"

She sighs. "Shit. Yeah, Mom, I'm home."

Meredith comes out of her room, and immediately notices the blood. "Not again. What happened?"

"One of the girls stabbed me in the leg." She shows her mother the tear on the back of her jeans. As usual, her skin is completely unharmed.

"Great, another fifty dollars down the drain."

"Hasn't Dad sent any money this month?"

Her mother looks guilty. "Um... No, not yet."

Claire nods. "Right. I'm going to go to my room.."

She hears her mom go out around nine, and knows she won't be back for hours. She thinks that Nathan probably has sent money, but she doesn't ask, because she'll never get a straight answer anyway. Under her bed, there's a box full of all the things she's managed to scavenge of her father. It's not much; her birth certificate, a Vote for Nathan Petrelli flyer and a photograph of him and her mom. She's never even met the man, he's never wanted anything to do with her, and she knows that he has proper family, a wife and two kids, but that doesn't stop her from missing him. A couple of years back, she ran away to New York and tried to find him. That part wasn't hard, his face was plastered on every building after all, but getting close enough to talk to him? That was impossible. Her grandmother, an uptight, pinched looking woman, had told her in no uncertain terms to leave and not come back.

There's a tapping at the window. She glances around, and pulls the window open.

"Hi."

He climbs in, and glances at the open box.

"Looking at that again?"

"Can't help it." She moves the box to the floor and he settles on the end of the bed.

"Aren't you supposed to be in New York? Election's coming up pretty soon," she says.

He shakes his head. "I'm really not needed." He sees the rip in her jeans and asks her how it happened. She tells him that she got attacked, and he says she shouldn't fight at school, but it isn't that easy. She's poorer than all the other girls, and she's weird to boot. When she'd tried out for the cheer leading squad they'd turn her down just because of where she lived, even though she was easily the best there.

"I think Mom's spending the money that Nathan sends us." She feels her eyes well up, and his arms loop around her. She rests her head on his chest, and cries.

"I don't think you should stay here," he says, his voice slightly muffled.

"I have nowhere else to go," she says plaintively.

"You could come with me." She pulls away and stares at him. He continues. "I'm leaving New York, and I don't intend on being found again. I won't be able to visit you any more."

He's the only family on her father's side that has ever been interested in her. He'd seen Claire leave the mansion that day, and he'd come out to ask her if she was okay. He hadn't even known who she was.

"Okay," she answers quietly. "I'll come with you."

It isn't much of a choice, really, and she knows the feelings she's having for Peter aren't normal but her life's one huge empty void and he makes it better. She leaves the box behind.

**4.**

**Claire Petrelli nee Bennet.**

"I think this is very unwise, Peter," Nathan says, looking somewhat awkward in the run down motel room.

Peter adjusts his tie, and fusses with his hair in the mirror. "I didn't ask for advice, Nathan."

"Well, you're getting it. I supposed to stop you from doing stupid things like this."

"It's not stupid, we're in love."

Nathan rolls his eyes. "Yes, and you used to love Simone, remember that?"

He doesn't answer, and Nathan sits down on the creaky bed. The ring box is on the pillow, and he flips it open. It's expensive looking, not something his brother could afford with his nurse's salary. He must have broken into his trust fund.

"She's very young, Peter."

"I know." He plucks the box out of Nathan's hands. "But that doesn't change anything."

"Can't you just wait a couple of years? You... you're rushing into this."

"We've already waited two years, how much longer would you like?"

"What?" Nathan doesn't understand. The first he'd heard of this little affair was just over half an hour ago. Two years? How could he not have noticed something like that?

"You were a little busy with other stuff," Peter says, and Nathan absolutely hates that he can read minds. It makes him feel very vulnerable.

"When exactly did you meet her?"

He seems evasive. "Um, two thousand and uh five."

"The year that you..." _Went a little insane?_

Peter raises his eyebrows at the thought. "Yes, if you like."

"Weren't you on that whole mission thing then?"

"Yeah..." He trails off.

"Don't tell me she's the cheerleader." Peter remains silent. "Peter!"

"You asked me not to tell you!"

This is unbelievable. She's barely post-pubescent. How's it going to look to his voters, his brother's marrying a teenager?

"I only called you because you were in the area. If you like, we can get some people off the street to be our witnesses."

Nathan stands up. "Oh, no no no, I'm not having more people finding out about this debacle. Okay, I'll witness this thing. One question though."

Peter shrugs. "Go ahead."

"You really need to be married by Elvis?"

**5.**

**And one way she didn't.**

"What are we going to do?" Claire asks, rubbing soot off her leg. Her dad's hunched over coughing, his glasses long gone, probably being burned to nothing inside the house. He's in no state to drive.

Between gulps for air, he manages to say, "I don't know." Then collapses into another coughing fit.

She can still feel the heat of the flames on her back, and she doesn't know whether they're real or imagined. The house is burning; she can see it, smell it, her life is burning, her family and all she has is her father. Her charred flesh has already grown back, but pieces of her never will.

She supports her dad to the car as she hears sirens blaring.

"We'll go somewhere new," she says, starting the engine. "No job, no school, somewhere nobody will find us. We'll be okay."

She hopes it's true.


End file.
